


Let's Get Literal

by SailorChibi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Story, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Sabriel - Freeform, pure holiday fluff, sugary sweet fluff, this is how I start my foray into supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 23:26:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean looks around, at the real tree, and that’s when he notices the top. Instead of the traditional star or single angel, this tree is adorned with two. Both male, one has brown hair and is wearing an ugly Christmas sweater and has an arm slung around the neck of the other, the one with dark hair who is wearing a trench coat. The ugly-Christmas-sweater angel has six golden wings, threaded with bubblegum pink, while the trench coat-angel has two black wings that shine dark purple and blue in the light.</p><p>Dean stares.</p><p>Ugly-Christmas-sweater angel winks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Get Literal

**Author's Note:**

> My first SPN fic... sort of inevitable, really. I feel like I don't have a 100% grasp on the voices yet, but... live and learn.

Dick angels and demons aside, Dean tends to hate witches the most. But vampires, particularly after a hunt like the one he and his brother have just finished, are up there on his list too. He switches the car off and just sits there for a minute, staring blankly through the windshield at the door of their motel room. It’s less than ten feet away, but pain and a growing sense of fatigue make the distance feel insurmountable.

Finally, Sam sighs and pushes his door open. “Come on,” he mutters as he swings himself out of the car. “I gotta look at your back, man.”

"It’s fine," Dean says, half-tempted to stay exactly where he is. He’s spent enough nights in the Impala to know how to get relatively comfortable. But Sam gives him bitchface number 22 - _don’t make me haul your ass out of the car_ \- and he grumbles, slowly climbing out and shutting the door gently even though he’d like to slam it.

He gets to the door first on account of Sam’s busted ankle, pushes it open already planning to pass out on his bed before he stops cold. Sam runs into him and Dean swears silently as a fresh burst of white-hot pain makes his vision blur, clinging to the handle to keep his knees from buckling.

This is not their motel room.

"You’re seeing this too, right?" Dean says once he can speak without grinding his teeth from pain.

"Uh, yeah, if by this you mean… not our room."

The shitty, small room, all that had been left over on Christmas Eve, had seen better days. The furniture was ancient, possibly older than Dean, and the single beds were crap. All that’s gone, replaced by an enormous room with a real fireplace and a fat green Christmas tree that’s fully decorated with lights and ornaments and a stack of presents. There’s a table right in front of them covered with delicious, tempting desserts and a well-stocked liquor cabinet near four plush chairs, conveniently located right in front of said fireplace.

"The hell?" Dean takes a few cautious steps inside, drawn to the table because - trap or not - the food smells fucking amazing. He’s not stupid enough to taste anything, but it’s not for lack of wanting. He greedily takes note of the delectable apple pie, white chocolate snowmen, peanut butter balls, cinnamon rolls - 

And then he sees them.

Down near the end, by the tree, is a platter of sugar cookies, each one meticulously covered in red or green icing and a smattering of snowflake-shaped white sprinkles. They’ve been cut out into little trees, snowmen and angels, only the angels are all missing the tip of one wing, and all he can think about is how much that little imperfection used to bother his mom.

"Sam -"

"What?" His brother spins, hand going instinctively to his knife, only there’s nothing to fight. Dean looks around, at the real tree, and that’s when he notices the top. Instead of the traditional star or single angel, this tree is adorned with two. Both male, one has brown hair and is wearing an ugly Christmas sweater and has an arm slung around the neck of the other, the one with dark hair who is wearing a trench coat. The ugly-Christmas-sweater angel has six golden wings, threaded with bubblegum pink, while the trench coat-angel has two black wings that shine dark purple and blue in the light.

Dean stares.

Ugly-Christmas-sweater angel winks.

“What the hell?” Sam mutters, a split second before the air pressure in the room changes. Dean’s ears pop and he blinks, momentarily reeling, before letting out a groan.

“Gabriel, I should’ve known.”

“With a greeting like that, someone might think you weren’t happy to see me,” Gabriel says, smirking.

"That's because I'm not," Dean says flatly, though admittedly the words don't hold the same tang of anger they once would have. Gabriel's a pest because he goes out of his way to be one, but he's come through more than once to save their asses and Dean is almost used to having him around. Almost.

Gabriel smirks. "Funny, I notice you don't have the same reaction at seeing my little bro."

"Gabriel," Castiel says before Dean can respond, sounding long suffering. It's the way he usually sounds after too many hours in Gabriel's company. Dean can relate. He stands still as Castiel approaches him, hand already extended. Two fingers brush against his forehead and the pain lingering in his body immediately fades, tense and aching muscles relaxing into soothing warmth. He breathes a sigh of relief.

"Thanks Cas."

"Too sweet for words," Gabriel says, right before he grabs Sam by the face and yanks him down into a kiss. Sam chokes, arms flailing in surprise, while Castiel rolls his eyes and Dean groans and turns away. Gabriel pulls back smirking and lets go only to give Sam a pat on the ass. "There you go, Samsquatch. All healed and ready for our regularly scheduled nightly activities, am I right?" He leers, waggling his eyebrows.

"You little fucker," Dean growls.

"Dean." Sam rolls his eyes at him, and it's not quite a bitchface but it's pretty damn close. 

"One of these days I'm going to shoot you," Dean promises.

"Can't shoot your brother's boyfriend, Dean-o."

"Watch me," Dean mutters under his breath, too low for Sam to hear. Castiel huffs softly in amusement, though, and Gabriel just smirks again and grabs Sam by the arm. He physically pulls Sam over to the tree and yeah, that will never stop being weird: skinny Gabriel hauling his moose of a brother around like Sam's the one who's the shorty. It's always jarring, a reminder that Gabriel is an archangel capable of wielding extreme power, an archangel that his baby brother happens to be fucking on a regular basis. 

He notices that Castiel is looking sideways at the food and, deciding that ignoring Gabriel is nearly as good as being able to shoot him, ambles closer to the table. "You ever tried a sugar cookie, Cas?"

"No."

"No time like the present." He plucks one of the cookies from the platter and offers it. Castiel stares at the cookie for a moment, eyebrows faintly wrinkled as though the green frosting and snowflake sprinkles are a foreign object, before he takes it, fingers sinking into the dough. He frowns when part of it crumbles, smattering the front of his suit with crumbs, and Dean swallows a laugh. "You gotta be a little more gentle. Eat the rest of it before it ends up on the floor. That's just a waste of good cookie." And to prove it, he snatches another one and pops it into his mouth.

Smooth butter and sweet explode across his taste buds and he moans, eyes fluttering shut to better experience a taste he hasn't had in years. No one does sugar cookies quite like Mary Winchester, that perfect blend of golden dough and icing that edged on being just a shade too sweet. He opens his eyes to find Castiel staring at him, the head of his snowman cookie missing. Dean grins. "Well?"

"Interesting."

Interesting? Dean's not sure whether that's good or bad, but considering that Castiel takes another careful bite he decides to concede it as a win. "My mom made the best cookies. I dunno how you guys got the recipe right."

Castiel swallows, an act that he still seems to find awkward, and says, "She made them."

Dean freezes. "What?"

"Your mother. Gabriel said that Sam has never experienced a proper Christmas, and he wanted to find out what they used to be like." His eyes are penetrating as ever, like what he's saying isn't sending Dean into a complete tailspin. "We visited the past and discovered that Mary was fond of making cookies ahead of time and placing them in the freezer. I believe Gabriel decided to borrow a batch."

"You mean he stole a batch," Dean says, staring back down at the platter. That his mom touched, created, doted over. His throat goes tight and he clears it. "That's - wow, that's quite a trip just for Christmas. I thought you didn't even like this holiday."

"It is growing on me," Castiel says softly.

Dean has no words for that, no response, and he finds that he can't look away from Castiel's eyes. Not that he really wants to. Castiel looks good in firelight, the flames warming his features, and Dean’s close enough he can pick out the individual strands of blue in the angel’s eyes.

“Presents!” Gabriel shouts, and Dean starts, looking away fast, heart pounding too hard.

“No!” Sam counters. “We don’t open presents until tomorrow morning.”

“That’s stupid.”

“It’s tradition.” Sam plucks the present Gabriel’s clutching out of his hands and sets it back down under the tree. “We’re gonna do this right. Dean usually didn’t let me open my presents until it was Christmas.”

Gabriel narrows his eyes. “I should’ve known.”

Dean smirks into another cookie. “Tradition.”

“We could jump forward and then open the gifts,” Gabriel says, inspired, but Sam grabs his hand before he can snap.

“Gabriel, _no_. Half the fun is anticipation.”

“Really.” 

The flatly disbelieving tone just makes Sam smile. “Yes, really.”

Gabriel sighs, looking very put upon, then brightens. “We’ll go play in the snow, then.”

“It’s not –” Dean cuts himself off at the sound of a snap and glances at the window, already knowing what he’ll see. Snow. Big, fat flakes, tumbling past the glass, coming down hard enough there’ll be accumulation in no time.

“Anticipation,” Gabriel says by way of explanation, eyes glittering. “I’m anticipating being able to strip you out of your wet clothes later, Sammy.”

“Oh Christ,” Dean mutters, pointedly not looking as the perverted archangel drags his brother outside. It’s instinct to worry about Sam, who isn’t dressed for snow, who has to be tired by now, but he tamps it down and glances at Castiel. “No snow for you?”

“No,” Castiel says simply, and while Dean thinks that if he were so inclined he could probably get Castiel out there, maybe even lighten him up a bit, he’s more inclined to sink into one of those chairs with a glass of whiskey. So he does. The rich liquor burns just right going down and he sighs appreciatively, licking his bottom lip.

The fire is hot against the soles of his feet, and Dean finds himself saying, “Thanks Cas. For this, I mean. Sammy’s never really had a Christmas before.” And then he stops, because the extent of Sam’s Christmas growing up was whatever half-assed celebration Dean could throw together while John was out on a hunt. Usually their father would back and not even realize he’d missed Christmas. Dean used to spend those Christmases wishing Sam could’ve experienced one with Mary, and this is – it’s the next best thing.

“It was not only for Sam. Dean.”

And Dean’s eyes open at the feel of warm weight settling across his thighs, knees sinking deeply into the fabric on either side of his waist. Castiel is straddling him, hand settling onto Dean’s shoulder with a proprietary grip. 

“Cas?” he says, throat gone dry, and they’ve been coming to this point for a long time now but somehow he never really thought they’d actually get here. His heart starts pounding again, so loud that Castiel must be able to hear it, and he has to force his eyes up from the angel’s mouth. Blue eyes look deep and Dean swallows.

Castiel’s hand tightens fractionally and then he kisses Dean. It’s soft, at first, up until Castiel tentatively swipes his tongue across Dean’s bottom lip and Dean groans. He sets his hands on Castiel’s hips and tips his head up to deepen the kiss, licking his way into the angel’s mouth. The taste is sweet and hot and he murmurs appreciatively when Castiel makes a deep sound in his throat. It’s the first time he’s ever seen Castiel anything close to wrecked, eyes wide and cheeks flushed pink, and he likes it.

“Was that my Christmas present?” he asks, licking his lips again. This time he notices the way Castiel’s eyes follow the gesture. He tries not to grin.

“Yes,” Castiel says decisively after a noticeable pause. “It was.”

“Well then, Merry fucking Christmas to me,” Dean mutters, hoping it might get literal, and kisses his angel again.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://tsuki-chibi.tumblr.com/) for sneak peeks.


End file.
